JUDICATOR JANE 6 - CHAPTER 45

Archangel

The streets of Dawnskeep lay still, cloaked in uneasy silence. Shuttered windows concealed wary eyes, their gazes flickering from behind slats and curtains as Pogg strode alone down the wide central boulevard. His thoughts were a storm—tangled threads of choices, strategies, harsh truths, and the weight of consequence. Purging the wicked had brought immense experience, yes—but it was grueling, soul-sapping work. Not many left now… he mused, a flicker of relief passing through him—followed quickly by disappointment. He had climbed swiftly, gained new levels, unlocked formidable skills. But will it be enough?

He pushed the worry aside as he stepped into the grand plaza at the heart of the city. Waiting there were those who mattered most—his truest allies, gathered under the gray light of dawn.

Tiberius, the unflinching commander of the Pathbound Army, stood with arms crossed, silent as ever. Saria, the venerable Dalrazi matron, offered a quiet nod, her presence alone lending weight to the moment. Rydor, sharp-eyed and careful, stood a step behind the rest, as alert here as he would be in enemy territory. Enel and Tara, the former Son of Unity soldier and his wife, stood hand-in-hand, their faces resolute; they had chosen his cause long before it had a name.

And at the center, shining like the morning star, stood Princess Jasmine. She was radiant, luminous—like a flower unfolding beneath the first true sunlight. Unaware, perhaps, of her own affect on him, she had helped mend the fractured man left in the wake of Lord Melkit’s brutal assault. From the ruin of his resolve, she had helped forge something stronger—not with speeches or command, but simply by being.

They were here because he had called them. A decision had to be made, one that could reverse the tide of ever-growing shadow. His gaze drifted downward, eyes locking on the entry waiting in his System logs—his new Legendary skill: Archangel.

Archangel (Legendary)

Select your champion to stand as a paragon of virtue. Choose wisely—the power of the light will flow through them.

The description was clear—this skill demanded a bearer. But who?

That question had weighed heavily on Pogg since the moment he received it. He had reviewed, reconsidered, doubted, and circled back again. But now, standing in the heart of Dawnskeep with his allies before him, the time had come to choose.

“Greetings, everyone,” he began, voice steady, though his heart churned in his chest. “Thank you for coming.”

His gaze swept the plaza. A handful of civilians lingered at a distance, watching warily. In front of them stood Lord Tygal with a contingent of the Gilded Army, their gold-trimmed armor gleaming even in the muted light, many wielding Arcanite weapons. None of them knew. He had told no one—not even his inner circle—about the skill. He hadn’t wanted campaigning, hadn’t wanted pressure. This choice, more than any before it, had to be his alone.

“I’ve called you here because I’ve received a new Legendary skill,” he announced. “And I intend to activate it—right now.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd as he stepped forward, the soft glow of his ever-active Lifegiving Raiment illuminating the cobblestones beneath him.

“Legendary skill?” Lord Tygal’s brow furrowed as he stepped ahead of his guard. “Why are we only hearing of this now?”

“It allows me to choose someone,” Pogg replied calmly, “and name them Archangel. A powerful boon granted by the System, though its full nature remains unclear to me.”

Tiberius raised a hand in measured caution. “Pogg, any skill you gain is a weapon—one we need aimed at the darkness pressing in on us. It must be examined thoroughly before use. Please—Now is not the time for recklessness.”

The words rang hollow in his ears. Pogg had already examined everything. Weighed every possibility. Assessed each of them more times than he could count.

His eyes drifted—first to Jasmine.

Radiant and serene, she stood apart from the others like a rose blooming amid ruin. In the wake of Lord Melkit’s savage assault, she had helped steady him, not with force or strategy, but with a simple laugh. Could she stand in the light beside him? Could she bear the weight of what was to come?

Then there was Tiberius—grizzled, unyielding. A soldier forged in war, yet flexible enough to have followed him across the continent, even into the heart of an enemy realm. Every step of this journey, Tiberius had walked at his side, not as a servant, but as a steel pillar holding up the weight of his cause.

His gaze shifted to Rydor and Enel—men marked by their past, but bound by loyalty. Rydor, whose duplicity had led Pogg into the Providencia under false pretenses, had nonetheless rescued him from the heart of the Sanctum Imperium dungeons. Enel, alongside Tara, had abandoned the Sons of Unity to stand for something greater. Both had proven themselves time and again.

And finally, Saria—the aged Dalrazi matron who had approached him when no one else dared, even after he had butchered half her village. She had taught him the hand-speak of her people, more than that—the language of patience. Through everything, she had never waivered.

Around him, the voices of his companions rose in quiet debate. Some attempted to make a case to be chosen, others pressed caution, or simply waited in silence. He ignored it all. 

The decision was his. His alone.

***

Slipping through the back alleys, Myra trailed Princess Jasmine at a cautious distance. The route had twisted through half the city before finally arriving here—some kind of gathering, tucked away in the central plaza at the crack of dawn.

Probably the same one Father warned me to stay away from, she thought, smirking to herself. Might as well have engraved me an invitation.

Following the princess had led her to exactly where she wanted to be.

She crouched behind a stone column just outside a tailor’s shop, peeking out at the plaza beyond. A crowd had formed—waiting, murmuring—but for what? Myra’s stomach twisted. Pogg’s so-called “purifications” had become near-daily spectacles by now, each one more nauseating than the last. She could still smell the bitter trace of ash in the wind. Thanks for ruining campfires forever jerkwad. She smiled at the insult, something she learned from Jane.

Well… this time it feels different.

The air was tense, not mournful. Expectant. Charged. There were no criminals lined up for the usual purifications.

Something was coming, and Myra intended to see what.

She glanced right and spotted a man labeled Bernadad peeking nervously from a window. She gave him a small nod he didn’t return. People are curious, she mused. Just not stupid.

Then her eyes widened.

There was Pogg, striding down the main thoroughfare like a common man—like he couldn't just soar through the sky for days.

She was just close enough now to inspect him. Wonder what he’s at now. She triggered General Identification to see.

Pogg (Level 175)

Human

Myra shuddered as the number appeared in her logs.

That much experience… how many had to die for him to gain so many levels?

It was a cruel kind of math—one she hated trying to solve. In Arcadia now, every crime—murder, theft, or even a loaf of stolen bread—could be a death sentence. Her father had tried to explain it before, again and again, spinning it as a necessity, a hard truth of dark times.

But to Myra, they were just excuses.

Pogg was supposed to be the savior. The Chosen One meant to stop the creeping shadow rising in the east. But what kind of world were they left with in the meantime? How many lives were being ground to dust under the banner of salvation?

Before the thought could spiral further, a voice nearby whispered from the window, “Oh—there. Something’s happening.”

Snapping to attention, Myra pushed the grim thoughts aside.

In the center of the plaza, Pogg had stopped in front of someone. He extended a hand—slowly, deliberately—then closed his eyes.

Here we go, she thought, heart tightening.

”MY SPIRIT IS OVERCOME WITH THE THIRST FOR LIGHT—BE MY HARBINGER, THAT SHADOW WILL NOT GO UNCHALLENGED. LET LIGHT NOT BE JUST SEEN, BUT FELT IN FURY AND FIRE.”

Myra clapped her hands over her ears as the deafening call to arms tore through the city—an overwhelming, otherworldly sound that rattled the stone beneath her feet. At that same instant, a blinding pillar of light pierced the sky, breaking through the clouds and striking the one standing before him. It was… a woman.

She began to rise, glowing with intense radiance, her form slowly ascending into the air.

Then, they appeared.

White-winged figures descended from the heavens, clad in gleaming armor, each wielding a weapon—swords, axes, spears, bows, and others Myra couldn’t even name. Celestial and silent, they moved with perfect discipline, too distant to recognize in detail. They slowly fell in around the rising figure.

Who is she? Myra squinted into the light, trying to make out the woman at the center of the pillar. But it was impossible. The glow was too intense—only a silhouette remained, burning into her eyes.

The divine warriors hovered in formation, forming a wide circle around the woman. Then, one by one, they raised their weapons to their chests in solemn salute, paying silent homage. The moment pulsed with reverence, weight, and something else—power.

Myra shielded her eyes with a trembling hand, squinting between her fingers.

Too bright…

Then, with a final flare, the light flashed—and the celestial host vanished.

Gone in an instant.

Myra blinked rapidly, trying to shake the afterimages from her vision. When her sight cleared, she saw the woman descending slowly, radiant no longer, but still glowing faintly with residual light.

Young. Definitely young. Can’t quite make her out… Who is she? Myra wondered, a chill running down her spine. 

And what the blazes just happened?!

***

Pogg lowered his hand, his pulse still thundering from the aftermath of the skill’s activation. He had anticipated change—something dramatic, something divine—but not like this. He hadn’t known what the System would do, only that it would be momentous.

Before him, his chosen champion touched down with quiet grace, the final strands of radiant energy still fading from the pillar of light she had emerged from. Her eyes shimmered with power—living light dancing behind them, echoing the brilliance that had engulfed her only moments before.

She was transformed.

Gone was the frailty, the bent posture, the weary breath of age. In its place stood a figure renewed—strong, upright, eyes sharp with clarity and purpose. Her very presence hummed with vitality. Pogg could scarcely believe it was the same woman.

This... this is what Archangel bestows?

Still half-doubting what he saw, he triggered Righteous Perception, needing to confirm that who stood before him was the same person.

Saria (Level 91)

Human

Class: Archangel (Epic)

Strength: 147

Agility: 100

Constitution: 120

Intelligence: 62

Luck: 4

Wisdom: 110

Virtue: 100

Health: 1200/1200

Mana: 1100/1100

The transformation was complete. The elderly Dalrazi matron—once frail, hunched, and weathered by decades of struggle—now stood tall, radiating strength. Her class had transformed, ascending into something far greater, along with the formidable stats that accompanied it. She was no longer simply 'Saria'. She was a beacon. A living blade.

There had never been another choice. Not truly.

The Dalrazi were his burden and his bond. Their fate was his to carry, and his rise was inextricably tied to their own. And Saria? She had lived the brutality of the poisoned coasts. She had bled, suffered, endured. But more than that—she had changed. First, through the Path From Unity, the book that forged his own road. Then, again, through the cleansing power of his Purify skill. And now, for the final time, she had been reborn. Anointed. Ascended. His harbinger of light. 

As for the others…

Tiberius had his duties, his own responsibilities, his own notions of right and wrong. Rydor, Enel, even Tara—all valuable, all loyal—but each driven by their own internal calculus. Their loyalty, though strong, was tangled with agendas he could never fully see. And Princess Jasmine?

No.

She was too delicate, too radiant, like a bloom untouched by shadow. To thrust her into the front lines of a war steeped in blood and sorrow—it was unthinkable. Her place was here, beneath his protection, untouched by the horrors to come. My rose beneath the glass.

Saria flexed her arms, hands brushing her face as if confirming she was still real. Then she turned, locking eyes with Pogg. The weight of her years was gone, erased by divine light, but the fire—that unwavering conviction—still blazed within her gaze.

She closed her eyes briefly in concentration. With a pulse of golden energy, a pair of wings erupted from her back, brilliant and resplendent. Lifting off the ground with effortless grace, she hovered above the plaza. In her hands, weapons formed—pure light shaped into righteous instruments of war.

“You have chosen well, Pogg,” she declared, her voice deeper now, resonant with newfound power. “I feel it—the light, at last. In my bones. In my spirit. Let us drive back the coming dark. Let us make the world see that the Chosen One walks among them. Yes, first they see—”

She raised her blades toward the heavens.

“—then they will kneel.”